Smile, Zane
by amaerior
Summary: A final moment in the final, heroic act of Zane Julien. / second chapter, rewritten
1. SMILE

I see the golden lines linking the Overlord to life, the bindings that clasp my figurative kin.

I know what I must do, but I don't want to do it. My mind comes to many resolves, over and over, until I speak once again.

As I jump, I ask my brothers to support me one more time. The leering mechanism of the Golden Master gazes down upon me, as I prepare to do what the unthinkable. Yet, it still must be done; there is no other way. None else can take my place, nor do what I am to accomplish.

Swiftly, I reach the metallic armor that totes our enemy to his places, and a cry reaches up from within me. It is the epitome of freedom, of life, of release. It is what I am made of. It is the sound of my life. A blue light is radiating from somewhere; I cannot find the source. The Overlord sneers at me, yet I still hang on. I can see minuscule flecks of frost forming around us, unnoticed by him.

My palms begin the burn as the disc within me pulsates rapidly, like a bomb ticking down to the final explosion.

_Why am I doing this? There has to be another way._

Still, parts of me doubt my decision. There is a infinite space now, between going on and turning, and I know what has been done. Going back, now, would till cause the inevitable. There is no regret to be found.

The half - moon band that is my heart now thrums more violently, and I understand the critical means here. Ice is now freely forming on the Overlord's form, creeping slowly over his dark essence. He notices. He notices, and instead of the savage pleasure in his expression, there is now unthinkable fury.

Vaguely, I can hear my friends below me, with valiant cries of protest. They know. Beneath, I can also hear the shouts and screams of the remaining citizens as they attempt to escape with the Serpentine. They are innocent people, unwillingly caught in this feud : and I know that.

Nostalgia engulfs me, along with the fuzzy sensation of deja vu, and I find the memory.

_I can feel the wings of the small butterfly tickle my palms as I extend my hands, ever - watchful as the little creature flits away from my sight. The old man next to me smiles, perhaps with pride, and turns to me. He balances his spectacles on the bridge of his nose and speaks in a fatherly way to me._

_" Remember, Zane, " he states calmly. " You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. "_

_A smile plays, synchronized, across both our faces as we turn our heads to the spring sky._

I understand now how it is to have the reminiscence of your life, your soul, your dreams and memories played out before yourself. Mine are ever - changing and swift, but each recollection engulfs me in a tranquil, serene aura as I watch. They fill me with courage, and as they keep flowing, I feel safe in the face of danger.

_Leaping over a building, golden weapons in hand alongside my brothers._

_Raising our elemental blades to the darkened sky, a ray of pure energy exploding from the tips._

_The many cries of our chant, spiraling._

_In the frost forest, four twisters stirring up wide clumps of snow as we face the icy monsters._

_My father, his arms open wide, in a heartfelt embrace to me._

_Sensei, vowing we would find my family in front of the Bounty, a promise he would keep. I can hear myself asking if I would be the green ninja, and see his wise smile._

_Myself, in a column of radiant blue light, proclaiming my identity. _

_Ice spreading, blasting, materializing._

_Humour switch on. _

_I can see the falcon, and myself, mirroring each other's movements._

Distantly, I can feel and hear the tiny heart monitor, and my vision flashes red for an instant. I see that my power has finally shut down. By now, the entire city is engulfed by a blizzard of my doing, and my friend's calls can no longer be heard.

One voice cuts through the silence, and I see far down below, eyes watching me.

I know what they are thinking, I know their regrets, I understand their pain. But as I turn back to the thoughts of my memories, I also know I can no longer stay with them in their physical realm. I cannot hear their pleas, cannot glimpse their faces.

Although only a few seconds passed, everything itself has gone deathly silent and distorted, and faintly, vaguely, it's like I can hear a voice, singing a melody of my life and end from another dimension. It speaks to me, for me, and as I let go, I know.

And I smile.


	2. ZANE

_**Smile, Zane—rewrite.**_

* * *

The spidery golden bindings that link the Overlord to life clasp, firmly, my figurative kin.

His armor, glinting in the daylight sun, contrasts deeply with his midnight skin that reflects upon his own soul; how ironic it is that his armor is what we, I, alongside my brothers, had once fought with _against _evil, against his very existence, now protects him. How ironic that he, of all creatures—of all _souls_!—resides in the monstrosity, forged of the four weapons that had once created Ninjago, the very land he sought to steal from its people.

And if I am to end this, to resolve this, there is only one way out.

How funny that there is no way to run from the inevitable—to run either way would still mean my demise to me—but to run one way would mean all else's survival; or, rather, walk, leap, and prance along with pride, honor and resolution. For what is noble, honorable, respectable of a sacrifice given unwillingly? Head, heart, conflicts: my mind flits through alternatives, possible, selfish alternatives with no guarantee: my heart urges me on.

My heart urges me on to make a sacrifice for the ones I love.

I realize as I stand that my father built me, loved me, cherished me, making me feel truly alive. My brothers loved me as if we were bound by blood, bound more than by blood, and reached across species, lives, _dimensions,_ to connect with me. The falcon, my loyal companion, was a machine like myself, but I loved it like family because it was there for me to hold onto when I felt as if I was drowning by the lack of water. And PIXAL—I do believe there had been something ... special one cannot simply put into words.

Humanity, human—two very different things in perspective, yet together like brother and sister.

My brothers' love, my family's love, gave me humanity, the capacity to learn and laugh, to live and love, to think and feel, and, in the end, sacrifice. Humanity, their given humanity, truly made me human; I _was_ human, in a sense, and, in the end, I will die like one. I will die like everyone deserves to die—with the people they love. And that is what I intend to do.

So as I jump, I ask my brothers to support me, for one last time.

They comply, and swiftly, I reach the metallic armor that totes the enemy of Light itself. The cry that reaches up within my own throat even I didn't register until I heard it myself; it is the epitome of freedom, the very essence of a life lived for the light. It is what I was made of, am made of, and, in death, I hope will be what is remembered. I hope to be remembered as Zane, or ZANE, the droid who lived like a human.

A blue light is shining somewhere. I cannot find the source.

The Overlord's leering maw and diminishing sneer doesn't douse the flame of determination burning within me, doesn't deter me enough to release my hold. Most of all, it doesn't prevent me from beginning what I plan to do—minuscule flecks of frost are forming upon us, but the monster doesn't notice: he is too busy mocking me, mocking them all, like the tyrant he is. He has nothing to gain from it, but the evil dwelling in every fibre of his body—his stolen body, his stolen power—simply can't help but do so.

The disc inside me ticks like a bomb on its final countdown, pulsating furiously.

Part of me, one very, very small part of me still regrets my decision, telling me to turn back, telling me there's another way. But the logical, the emotional, the sides of me dancing with reality know that even if I should turn back now, it would still cause what I would try to prevent, what my brothers would try to prevent. And no part of me would tear down what they would fight for; the infinite space that lies between now and then is impossible to cross. There's no room for regret, and I don't regret.

Ice freely forms on the Overlord now.

He notices, and instead of the savage pleasure painted on his harsh features there is unthinkable fury. The critical means here, too, become icy with clarity, as the half—moon band that is my heart pulses double, triple, quadruple time, red text and beeps flooding my vision, ringing in my ears, warning me, warning me, of what is to come.

Faint voices reach me through the turmoil.

I can hear my friends, below me, with valiant cries of protest—they know the unthinkable will happen. Alongside their voices are the ones racked with fear and fright, the voices of innocent civilians caught in a feud and taking the blows. Although the Serpentine, minds contaminated with the thirst for vengeance and blind fury, have once fought against us and the People of Ninjago, I glimpse a Hypnobrai, with glaring red eyes and a long general's tail helping them underground—Skales, I presume—and marvel at how enemies and enemies unite under a common threat. Alliances can be made that way, through the nature of protecting one's loved souls and defending the helpless.

Nostalgia engulfs me, filling me with the fuzzy sense of déjà vu.

_The small butterfly's wings are fragile, easily ruffled by the gentle winds that carry past it as I slowly extend my hands, feeling its small, delicate legs tickle my palms. As it flits away, I, ever-watchful, gaze at it until it drifts out of my sight on the serene breezes blowing, wafting in the spring sky. Today, the heavens are impossibly blue, the color blue of the forget-me-not that grows under the snow and pokes itself out in the spring and summer, but they remind me of the beautiful polar ice that covers the Glacier Barrens; exotic, beautiful, defenseless._

_The old man next to me smiles widely, proudly._

_He balances his spectacles on the tip of his nose, turning to me. His voice is fatherly and wise, speaking to me as if I were student, son, and creation—which I am. "Remember, Zane," he states calmly, the kind smile clearly heard in his voice. "You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves." At this, I smile, too, and we both turn our heads to gaze up at the spring sky._

I understand now.

I understand what it means to have hindsight, to look back at what has been done, or, for me, how I have lived. I understand as I watch the reminiscence, the pale shadows, of my life, my soul, my dreams, my very memories flashing across my eyes, before myself as if I am watching how _I have lived,_ what I have done—which I am. Mine, ever-changing and swift, pass by me in what seems like a shattered fragment of forever with a faint whisper of the past, each one pricking at my heart—real or true? I cannot fathom—with love and courage, filling me with the sense of safety in the apparent danger looming before me. The recollections, each one, brief and infinite, fleet and eternal, engulfs my conscience in a tranquil aura, soothing the worries and regrets milling deeply below.

My father built me as the droid ZANE. My family—families—made me Zane, the robot who lived.

Heartfelt embraces, moments as a team, the sense of victory, of pride, of promise, of love, of youthfulness, of the sheer, overwhelming force of life itself—this is how I lived, this is how I spent my time here, and this is how I would have it. No other way would suffice; where would my identity be then? Love for my family, the love for my father, the love for those alive and defenseless—it makes a big part of me ... part of me.

For a moment, my vision flashes crimson.

The red hues, the chaotic lines of code, the text scrolling across my sight, don't to bother me. My heart monitor, overloaded, useless now, broken, pulses one final time before it shatters within my chest, leaving me to feel the shards ricochet and bounce around, leaving me to feel the hollow vibrations and collisions happening within me. My power has finally shut down, after the mights and troubles it has withstood.

A single snowflake drifts past me.

Then another—I realize the entire city is engulfed in a blizzard of my doing, battering at the Overlord and his leering mechanism. Eddies of snow whirl past me, giving me a gentle cloak of ambiance, idyllic seconds in a few final moments; the flakes drift in gentle patterns, almost as if wishing me off to another place. They are beautiful, fragile, graceful—like the peace that has fallen over Ninjago, or, fell over Ninjago. I hope it will prevail once again, this time, with my sacrifice.

I can't feel the cold.

I never could: my element, ice, and my body, different from that of a normal human. The cold never disturbed me, but, as I cling on to the Overlord I can feel my fingers going numb like the cold is sucking the heat of life: although it, in reality, is the power retreating from my fingers, fading from existence. It's not painful, more like a calming sedative that gives neither comfort or discomfort, like a neutral paradox left undisturbed. It slowly draws away, up my limbs, back into my chest, where the source once resided.

Through the silence I hear but one voice.

As my power is fading from existence, so am I, but I know I shall live on in other places—like the minds and memories of the ones who love me. But even so, even so I can't hear, can't see, can't feel the presence of my brothers, my sister, my mentor, my companion, all bound by love and not blood, I can still somehow sense them as they watch me. Something inside me, something not my power source, at that moment, breaks.

Their pains, their regrets, their thoughts.

They echo in my head because I know what they think and feel right now, uncannily, but I cannot feel the same—how could I? It's too late. But I understand their pain, I understand. _I understand._ As I turn back to my memories and my thoughts, however, the truth hits me with a cold clarity like the ice that belongs to me: I cannot stay with them, not in their realm, not in their physical realm. I cannot hear their pleas, glimpse their faces, sense their emotion.

Forever in a mere second.

Everything has gone deathly silent and distorted: I can feel my fingertips slipping, my lips moving in the last words I shall speak—_Go, ninja, go_— but even so, a faint strain of a melody drifts on the winds. It drifts to me, this little tune from this foreign dimension, alien, alone, singing a song, an aria, of me, my life. It speaks to me in its musical voice, soft and whispery, urging me to come with them. And as I let go, I know.

And I smile.


End file.
